


Desert Mission

by Miratete



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - British Colonial, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Desert, M/M, Political Alliances, Slave Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miratete/pseuds/Miratete
Summary: Prowl, Red Alert, and Smokescreen negotiate a treaty with Grimlock, the leader of a tribe of savages whose territory abuts that of their colony. Trapped at Grimlock's fortress by a sandstorm, the colonists are treated to a night of Dinobot hospitality.  A discovery made in Grimlock's apartments will change Prowl's life forever.





	1. Guests of Grimlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was originally posted as two parts in the AU August Challenge 2018, but I've pulled it out and posted it here as it worked as a stand-alone entity. Enjoy!

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Lord Grimlock,” Smokescreen began, “We wish to negotiate a deal between yourself and the colony of Rhodos.”

“What deal?” asked the huge mech before them. Physically the Dinobot leader was intimidating, standing a head above his own people, most of whom stood taller than the colonists. Every movement of the savage leader conveyed barely restrained strength. According to rumor even Megatron hesitated to face him in combat.

“As you know, we, like yourselves, have had trouble with the Decepticons. They raid our settlement. They steal our possessions. They steal our energon. Sometimes they steal our people.”

“Yes. We know,” Grimlock grunted. “Them do same to everyone.”

“Lord Grimlock. You have a fine band of mechs here, and you of all the desert tribes have managed to keep them out of your territory, save for an occasional raid into your outlying areas.”

Grimlock drew himself up proudly. “Yes. Us Dinobots strong. Stronger than Rhodos folk. Him Megatron fear me, Lord Grimlock.”

“Yes, well, Lord Grimlock. Your tribe has lived peacefully with the people of our colony. Of all the desert tribes, yours is the only one we allow to enter our walls.” The three colonists were quite familiar with Grimlock. He visited Rhodos several times a stellar-cycle, always with money, and always with a visit to Prowl and Red Alert's office. Sometimes he even rubbed elbows with an unwilling council member.

“We Dinobots like Rhodos. Like things of Rhodos.” He gestured to the room about him, decorated with a mix of Rhodosian and native items. The living quarters within his desert fortress were more civil than one would expect for a savage warlord.

Smokescreen smiled. This was going well. “Lord Grimlock, we understand you like Rhodosian weapons too.”

The big mech perked up. “Me Grimlock like weapons of your kind very much.” At that he rose and moved quickly to the next room, returning momentarily with an Iaconian shoulder mounted cannon held proudly. “Us Dinobots have only swords and small guns... but this...” He looked down at the massive weapon adoringly. Smokescreen and the others knew of the cannon. Some time ago, it and several other non-weapon items had been given to him as a gesture of good-will between the people of Rhodos and the tribe closest to their borders.

“Lord Grimlock,” Prowl said, rising from his seat. “We will supply your tribe with ten of these shoulder cannons in exchange for the extension of your defense against the Decepticons.”

Grimlock looked up from the cannon in his hands. “You give us weapons? Ten like this? To kill Decepticons?”

The three representatives nodded. “In exchange for you keeping the Decepticons from coming to Rhodos.”

They couldn't see his expression for the mask the Dinobot leader wore, but they were certain he was smiling. Behind him his lieutenants rumbled and chattered with much excitement. A Dinobot with flashy red and gold coloring stood. “Me Slag say ten of these make killing Decepticons easy.”

“Would you be willing to sign a treaty?” Prowl asked Grimlock. “Your protection of our borders in exchange for ten cannons?” Red Alert and Smokescreen nodded their heads.

The Dinobot laughed loudly. “You Rhodos people. Never trust given word. But Me Grimlock understand. Will sign.”

Red Alert pulled out the draft of the contract, printed out for examination. The native mechs of this region still did not trust datapads. The contract was placed upon a work table and the mechs gathered around. For several cycles Grimlock and his lieutenants studied the contract and the map. When the felt they had looked enough and asked all the questions they had, Grimlock signed his name to it and then stepped back. Red Alert and Smokescreen as well as Slag and Sludge signed it as formal witnesses. Then Prowl, as the Chief Enforcer of Rhodos, placed his palm against Grimlock's, and the two entwined their fingers for a moment—the formal way to close a deal among the tribes of desert mechs. Ever since joining the enforcers, Prowl had done his best to work hand in hand with the savages at their borders when he could.

Grimlock looked very pleased. “Tomorrow, I come to Rhodos for weapons. But tonight, Me Grimlock give you desert energon and we drink together. Then You People of Rhodos and Us Dinobots now brothers.” 

“We would be honored at your hospitality, Lord Grimlock,” said Smokescreen. The blue and red negotiator was always up for a party, and was known to frequent the border taverns where the Rhodosians and the savages met.

The contract was folded away and the table pulled back. The chairs were taken out as well but Dinobot-style seating cushions were brought in. “Tonight we have a celebration,” Grimlock informed. The Dinobots all sat, Prowl and Red Alert and Smokescreen among them. Red Alert noticed one of Grimlock's mechs shoving his brethren to take a seat next to him, a tall red Dinobot with white winglets on his shoulders. This particular savage had taken a particular interest in him ever since he'd visited Rhodos alongside Grimlock.

High-grade was brought in and served in deep cups by the mates of the Dinobots. Prowl had always found it an interesting custom that the Dinobots dressed their mates from head to knee in cloth robes that hid all but their optics, their antennae, and their hands. When he'd asked once before, he was told that it was to hide the appearance of their mates. “Other tribes not know if mate is pretty or ugly if we hide. Less likely to steal if we hide,” Grimlock had explained.

Prowl, sitting next to Grimlock, took the bowl offered him, noting the blue optics of the mech presenting it, also noticing the  
chain hobbling him at the ankles. The mech's plating was black and white as his own. The Dinobot leader noticed the scowl over the chain. “Him Bright Star always try to run away. Good mate, but him always try to leave.”

“He's not a Dinobot,” remarked Prowl, Dinobots either had red or yellow optics

Grimlock chuckled. “No. Him Bright Star a Decepticon. We capture him from Megatron.”

“But his optics are blue,” Prowl pointed out.

Grimlock shrugged. “Him Decepticon. Mate to Him Soundwave.” And then he laughed again, his rumbling laugh of pleasure. “Now him doing better—mate to Me Grimlock.”

Prowl shook his head. The desert customs regarding one's mates were barbaric. Besides engulfing them in cloth, mates were not chosen for love. They were chattels—captured, bought, sold, and traded. Grimlock, as the tribal leader, had five mechs and femmes in his keeping, while the others had two or three. Perhaps someday the Rhodosians could teach the tribes the error of their ways, but for now, it was best not to interfere with their long-held customs.

The drinking was accompanied by story-telling, a custom Prowl did appreciate. The Dinobots had a rich oral-history, in which they traced their ancestry through many phases of their people all the way back to Primus and the Guiding Hand. The stories were full of battles and conquests and encounters with great beings and dangerous monsters. While the upper rank of the Dinobots spoke some Iaconian, they told their tales in their own language accompanied by a translator. Grimlock's shackled mech was moved forward and he translated the spoken word into near flawless Iaconian. When Prowl asked, Grimlock as always was happy to provide an answer. “Him Bright Star speak many languages. Him taught by Soundwave to be translator.”

Grimlock missed it, but Prowl saw that the translator was glaring at his mate from beneath his veils.

Halfway through Sludge's uncomfortably slow recitation of an ancestor battling some enormous reptilian mech in the desert, a winged Dinobot suddenly skittered in and begged to interrupt with important news. While the Rhodosians were happy to have a quick end to the story, the Dinobots seemed all the happier. Sludge's epic tale had been getting painful to sit through. The news Swoop spouted was quickly relayed via the translator. “There is a large sandstorm moving this way, coming up from deep in the desert. It has already overswept the Oasis of Red Water and the Fortress of the Predacons.”

The three visitors flinched. While they'd known there was an atmospheric disturbance to the southwest before they'd made the journey from the pink cliffs of Rhodos into the sandy depths of Dinobot territory, it's projected route had it missing them completely. Smokescreen asked for confirmation while Red Alert radioed back to HQ in Rhodos. Smokescreen and Prowl sat in apprehension as they listened to Red Alert's side of the conversation.

“We'll have to leave now,” apologized Prowl to their hosts as the situation became clear.

Red Alert was finishing up with HQ. “That disturbance suddenly picked up speed and changed course. But even if we leave now, it will hit us before we're home,” he said unhappily.

Grimlock gestured grandly. “You not leave then. You stay here with us tonight.”

“You've been gracious enough already, Lord Grimlock. We do not wish to impose upon you further. We only ask that you allow us to take our leave immediately,” Smokescreen said diplomatically.

“Me Grimlock insist. You stay here with Dinobots in my home. Go home tomorrow. I come with you tomorrow to get weapons.”

“Only if it isn't inconvenient for you,” said Red Alert. “We can take a bit of sand and dust you know.”

Grimlock laughed yet again. “Tonight you enjoy drink as Dinobots do. Tonight you stay and sleep as Dinobots.” He waved to his mates, distinguished from the others by black and yellow veils over their heads. “Bring Rhodos folk more drink. Make them comfortable,” he ordered before turning back to his guests. “Enjoy yourselves. We go out to prepare for storm. When we come back, Me Grimlock tell story of time Whiptail Ultima fought the Terrorcons.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Prowl didn't protest as Grimlock led him into a smallish berthroom furnished with a few pieces of furniture and a large bed. As all Dinobot beds, it was composed of a low platform topped by a thickly stuffed fiber mattress covered over with cushions and blankets to keep one warm against the chill of the desert night. The wind was howling dreadfully outside, and he could hear shutters about the fortress shuddering and banging. Now and then a crash would sound from somewhere atop the sprawling structure of stone and mudbrick. He was glad they had accepted the further hospitality of the Dinobot tribe.

“You sleep here tonight, in room of Bright Star.”

Prowl spun to look behind him, knowing that Bright Star had been following them. “Please, I don't want to put Bright Star out if this is his room. I am all right to recharge in a common room.”

“Him Bright Star sleep with you. Keep You Prowl warm.” Grimlock took Bright Star by the wrist and swung him gently toward the berth. “You seem to like Him Bright Star. I think him Bright Star like you too. Him look at you a lot.”

Obediently Bright Star sat on the berth, obviously embarrassed.

Prowl stared in surprise. It was no secret that the Dinobots as well as some of the other desert tribes would share their mates with their close friends—after all, a mate was just property. But Prowl was not a Dinobot, but a foreigner. It would be an insult to refuse this immense gesture of trust with the Dinobot leader. “Lord Grimlock, I am honored that you would share your mate with me,” he said with a slight bow. He would share the berth with Bright Star at least, but he didn't have to interface with the translator.

“When storm over tomorrow we go to Rhodos. You have a good night now,” Grimlock said casually, marching out and shutting the door behind him. “Maybe you like Decepticon mate so much, you get one for yourself,” he called mirthfully through the thin door. “Maybe Me Grimlock help you catch one.”

Moving to the desk in the room, Prowl set down his work case and sorted his datapads. He could hear Bright Star shuffling the covers of the bed. He wondered how Red Alert and Smokescreen were faring. Terrified by the noise of the storm, Red Alert had drank heavily of the native high-grade and had ended up quite inebriated and eventually unconscious. The red Dinobot next to him had carefully slung the senseless mech across his arms and started to carry him out. “Him Red Alert be all right,” Grimlock assured when Prowl and Smokescreen had moved to intercept. “Him Inferno look after him. Keep him safe.” As for Smokescreen, the mech had ended up in something of a snuggle pile with the Dinobot named Snarl and his three mates. By the end of the evening the snuggling had become a little more intimate. Not long after Snarl had pulled him to his feet and the party of five shuffled off and down a corridor, Smokescreen bolstered by two of Snarl's mates.

Prowl turned back to the berth where Bright Star was, only to find Bright Star had not only pulled back the berth covers but had removed his robe and veils.

“Bright Star!” Prowl gasped, surprised at what he saw.

The mech turned his head away shyly.

The mech was gorgeous, with bold black and white plating and a handsome faceplate. His waist was small but his chest prominent. The black helm—a mark of great beauty among Iaconians, was wonderfully proportioned. No wonder Grimlock had dared to steal him away from one of Megatron's officers. 

And then he realized that he knew who this perfect creature was.

“Jazz?” Prowl asked quietly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Desert Mission" continues in Chapter Two: "Revealing the Runaway"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	2. Revealing the Runaway

-o-o-o-o-o-

The mech's head suddenly snapped up, and he stared open mouthed at Prowl.

“You are! It's really you!” Prowl quickly moved to the berth and sat beside him. “I... Primus! After all this time I don't know what to say...”

The mech's expression suddenly fell, and he turned away as if in shame. “I'm... No... I'm not this Jazz you think I am.”

“What? You're Jazz, originally of Polyhex and then of Rhodos.”

The black and white mech shook his head. “You are mistaking me for someone else. My name is Bright Star. I'm a Decepticon,” he answered with more confidence in what he was saying.

“No. You're not. You're Jazz, of Polyhex and Rhodos.” He rose and moved to the other side of the mech, cupped his face in both hands, and studied him. “Yes... definitely. I've looked at your picture too many times to be mistaken.”

“You're mistaken.” The mech tried to turn away agian, but Prowl held his head steady.

“Bright Star... Jazz.. Don't you remember? You were taken by Decepticons. They raided Rhodos, as they did many times, and you were captured along with two other mechlings. Your parents were beside themselves with grief.” He paused, staring into the mech's optics. The face, though that of an adult now, was definitely the same. “I wasn't that much older than you at the time—I'd recently begun as an enforcer trainee in Rhodos. It may have been foolish, but when you and Cloudcrasher and Pipes were taken, I made a vow that I would do everything in my power to stop the Decepticon raids. You are part of the reason I became an enforcer. I've been looking for you for over three vorns.”

The black and white mech's optics filled with tears and when he tried to pull away again, Prowl allowed him to. 

“Jazz?” Prowl ventured softly, placing a hand on tearful mech's shoulder. “Why do you refuse to acknowledge this?”

He didn't respond for some time, but when he did, he whimpered out a tearful “Please. Just leave it. I don't want to be found. I can never go back.”

Prowl was stunned at the answer. “What? Why?”

“Yes, I know who I am. And unfortunately you know who I am. And I made some stupid decisions. And now, I just can't.”

“Jazz?”

“Please don't call me that. My name is Bright Star—the name Soundwave gave me,” he snapped, a touch of anger creeping into his voice.

“Jazz... Tell me what happened.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Jazz clutched the lifeless form of one of the mechs that had tried to penetrate Megatron's fortress. Already some of the Decepticons were draining them of their valuable fluids and rifling their pockets. The warlord was standing with his second-in-command watching over the process, the gun-former and the small jet gloating over the victory.

“Come away,” said Soundwave, taking his young mate's arm and pulling him back. “Return to my rooms. There is nothing here for you.”

Jazz protested wordlessly, gripping the body tighter despite the tremble in his hands.

“Let go,” Soundwave commanded.

Jazz let go, but it wasn't at his keeper's command, but rather in his own shock and horror. Across the courtyard he could see Blitzwing dragging another greyed form out of the corridor that led into some of the living quarters. “This one made it into the apartments. Musta been looting but he didn't find anything he liked. He's not got anything on him,” the triple-changer laughed. “Fancy-aft foreigners.”

“Carrier,” Jazz creaked, his voice less than a whisper. If he'd ever wanted to die it was right there and then.

His parents had come for him. They had come for him with others and they had died at the hands of the Decepticons.

“Come away,” said Soundwave again, his voice no different but his pull harder.

Jazz screamed in grief. This was his fault. He had killed his family. The day the Decepticons had raided Rhodos yet again, he and his two best friends had decided to fight instead of hiding as they were supposed to. Armed with under-powered hunting weapons they had disobeyed their parents' command to retreat into the stronghold, instead heading to the city borders and making a stand. They'd been captured all too easily and hauled back as prizes. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Soundwave chose me as his slave, and when I was of age, he made me his mate,” Jazz sobbed quietly, now held in Prowl's arms. “When the Dinobots raided the Decepticon fortress five meta-cycles ago, most of the warriors were away and they were successful. I was captured again and was chosen by Grimlock himself as a mate.” He gave a bitter laugh. “He never even looked at me without my robes. He wanted me because he knew he could use someone to translate and to teach him Iaconian.”

“You were the one who taught him? Grimlock always said a Decepticon had, which puzzled us.”

“I taught him as best I could...”

Prowl smirked. They had always been quietly amused by Grimlock's butchery of the language. At least Grimlock and his mechs had made a concerted effort.

“Grimlock can be very intelligent about some things, but clueless about others.”

“Has he treated you well?” Prowl asked.

“He doesn't beat me, and he never forces me into his berth if I resist. The Dinobots are savages, but they do have some respect for their mates.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Sometimes we wondered about them.”

“We might be kept, but we're at least treated decently.”

“As compared to the mates of the Decepticons?”

Jazz sucked in a deep ventilation. “Cloudcrasher had been selected by Megatron for his harem and eventually died at his hands. Pipes was beaten so many times by Blitzwing... he ran away into a sandstorm one night knowing he wouldn't survive. I was fortunate to have been chosen by Soundwave, who wasn't nearly as cruel. He only punished me when I deserved it.”

Prowl's hopes crashed. The moment he'd seen Jazz he'd wondered if the other two lost mechlings would be close by as well. Such would not be the case. “Jazz, I'm going to get you out of here tomorrow. I'm going to take you back to Rhodos.”

The mech's optics flared. “No! You can't!”

“Jazz, you're one of us. You can't stay here as property of these savages.”

“I can't go back though. Not after what I've done.”

Prowl took Jazz's hands and folded his own around them. “Jazz, you made a serious mistake, you and your friends. But at the time I'm sure you thought you were doing something good for your people. And you had no way of knowing so much tragedy would come of it.”

“That might be true, but it's still my fault. I can barely live with myself knowing that I was ultimately responsible for my creators' deaths, and the deaths of Pipes and Cloudcrasher, and the others too—the ones that came to rescue me.”

“They came to rescue all three of you. At the time of that mission into the Decepticon fortress it was thought that all three of you were still alive. But Jazz, making mistakes is a part of life. Tragedy is a part of life.”

“But so much of it was my doing.” Jazz slumped onto the berth, shaking with the tears. “I should have known better. When Cloudcrasher suggested it, I shouldn't have led us out there. I don't deserve to return to Rhodos. I don't deserve anything but what I've earned.” He stuffed his faceplate into a pillow to muffle his spark-breaking sobs.

Prowl said no more, eventually lying down beside the other mech and pulling the covers over them.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“I want to buy Bright Star from you,” Prowl told Grimlock the next morning as he and the Dinobot leader sipped some morning fuel together.

From across the room, where Jazz was fueling with Grimlock's other four mates and the Dinobot leader's two sparklings, came an anguished gasp.

Grimlock's mask was down, and he grinned broadly. “Me Grimlock knew you would like him. Him Bright Star nice to have in berth.”

“Tell me what you would sell him for,” Prowl said. Despite Grimlock's conjecture, he'd only held the distraught mech that night. And to be honest, it hadn't been any fun.

“Him Bright Star not for sale. Him Grimlock's favorite. Him teach me Iaconian and Decepticon words. Useful for talking to other tribes. Him useful for story telling. You know from last night. Nice to look at too,” he mused.

“If you just need a translator, I can loan him to you on occasion. I'll bring him here when you want,” Prowl offered.

“I have better idea. When you need nice mech in berth, you come visit. Me Grimlock happy to share with my friend Prowl,” Grimlock counter-offered. And then he looked at his harem over in the corner. “You can share any of my mates.” He called to the shrouded forms, and four came over, leaving Jazz and the sparklings behind. At his command, they shed their robes and veils.

Prowl had to admit he was impressed with the savage's taste in companions. The mech and the three femmes were quite beautiful. Even the two Dinobot femmes were attractive by Iaconian standards. The mech appeared to be a Decepticon for his red optics and violet plating. The other femme was unidentifiable as to her origins but she had the most unusual green optics and definitely a bestial alt-mode.

“See,” said Grimlock proudly. “All very nice. You Prowl can share any one.” But then he cocked his head and stared at the large gold and grey Dinobot femme. “Well, maybe not Her Clawpoint. Her maybe too much for Rhodos mech.” Grimlock chuckled. “But me like her very much.”

Grimlock sent the four back to their corner, poured himself a little more energon, and turned back to Prowl. “Storm is quiet now. We go back to Rhodos soon.”

“Lord Grimlock,” Prowl said gently. “Bright Star is not a Decepticon.”

Grimlock looked up at the Rhodosian official, questioning in his expression.

“He's Rhodosian.”

“What?” He looked into the corner again. “No. Him Decepticon. Me take him from Decepticon fortress myself.”

“He was created in a city of our people, and when he was just a sparkling, they moved to Rhodos. He's one of my kind.”

Grimlock looked at Prowl disbelievingly. “Him Bright Star tell me that him Decepticon.”

“He told me the same thing too.” Prowl heard the whimper from across the room. “Just look at him. He's not one of them.”

“Him not Decepticon?” Grimlock looked into the corner with a scowl. “Bright Star! You come here!” he ordered.

Trembling, Jazz came forward and knelt timidly next to the Dinobot leader.

“Where you from? Tell truth!”

Through tears, the black and white mech pleaded with Grimlock.

“What's he saying?” Prowl asked.

The Dinobot huffed frustratedly. “Him not answer question. Him beg me to stay here.”

Prowl sighed. “Grimlock, order him to tell you where he's from.”

Grimlock grabbed Jazz's shoulder in a heavy grip and held it against the floor. “Speak now.”

Jazz whimpered and squirmed, but began to speak in Iaconian. “I was created in Polyhex, and when I was just a sparkling my parents brought me to Rhodos.” He proceeded to recount the story he'd told Prowl the night before, Grimlock and the other four looking on with much amazement. The other four mates paused in their quiet morning chatter. This was a very interesting development. “Lord Grimlock, please. I don't want to go back to Rhodos. Don't let him take me.”

Prowl spoke solemnly. “Grimlock, I have to report this to the Council of Rhodos. It is my duty as the Chief Enforcer. I am obligated to do so. Once they find out you have him, they will demand his return.”

Grimlock thought in silence for a while, sipping his cup of energon, now and then glancing down at the shuddering robe that concealed a sudden wrench in the works of the treaty and its rewards.

“Let me buy him from you. I think that will be the only solution,” Prowl offered again. “I can bring him back to Rhodos, and you will retain your honor for not having given in to the demands of others.” It was common knowledge among the enforcers that it was easier to deal with the desert savages in a way that made them look like they were the ones in control. You never took an unruly visiting tribesman into custody—you offered him a place to fuel and recharge and think about a recent turn of events. They knew to accept this offer before the humiliation of being dragged off to jail could occur.

The Dinobot shifted and stared into his cup thoughtfully. “You are wise, Prowl of Rhodos.”

From a pocket, Prowl pulled out his holster and pistol. “I'll give you this for him.”

Grimlock's optics brightened beneath the visor. “You give me your favorite weapon?” Grimlock had long admired the pistol from his visits with Prowl.

Prowl nodded.

“Seems like good exchange. Me give you nice mate. You give me nice pistol.”

“No, please don't do this,” Jazz begged.

Grimlock huffed a little laugh. “Me sell you to my friend Prowl. Him Prowl like you. And Him Prowl not have mate.”

Jazz whimpered again. “I'll just run away. You'll never find me. No one will ever see me again.”

Prowl handed over the pistol, and Grimlock rose and locked the holster onto a thigh-plate. He drew the pistol a few times, grinning happily. And then he sat back down and finished his energon. “I give you Him Bright Star in front of Dinobots. Then they know he now your mate.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The party headed for Rhodos gathered in the outer courtyard of Grimlock's fortress. Red Alert was there with the red Dinobot, and it was obvious that something positive had transpired between them in the night, for they rarely got more than a few paces away from each other. The looks and smiles exchanged between them hinted at some pretty serious diplomacy having occurred. Smokescreen came out, escorted by Snarl and his three mates, the latter clinging to him excitedly.

When Prowl and Grimlock emerged, the Dinobot leader was pulling Jazz behind him by one arm. At the center of the courtyard, they stopped and Grimlock raised his hands. From the galleries overlooking the courtyard the rest of the tribe watched in curiosity.

Before the assembly of his people, Grimlock undressed Jazz, taking the veils and robe off of the sobbing mech, who curled his arms protectively around himself on being revealed. Then Grimlock put Jazz's hand into Prowl's and spoke aloud.

As Grimlock had instructed, Prowl took the robes that had been handed to him not long before and he put them upon the naked mech, covering Jazz from head to ankle once again. Led by Grimlock, cheers and cries of excitement followed.

“What's going on?” Red Alert asked. “What was that about?” Smokescreen was looking equally confused.

“Him Grimlock pass ownership of Bright Star to Prowl. Maybe as gift. Maybe sold,” explained Inferno. Inferno then stroked his hand down Red Alert's shoulder pauldron and spoke quietly into the smaller mech's audial. “If you say you be my mate, me never sell you.”

Smokescreen's optics widened. It was shocking enough that the Chief Enforcer had just purchased a slave, a custom the Rhodosians were hoping to end in the desert territories. And a Dinobot actually had the nerve to court a Rhodosian official?

Though Red Alert was not discouraging the tall mech's attentions. In fact he even seemed to be enjoying them with a certain coyness to his smile.

The ceremony concluded, Grimlock raised his hands and spoke to his tribe. More cheers followed. Prowl strolled over, Jazz now being led by him.

“So what's this about?” asked Smokescreen. “Inferno says that you now own Bright Star.”

Prowl nodded, grinning smugly. “Just getting myself a mate. I bought Bright Star off of Grimlock.”

“You really bought a mech?” Red Alert gasped.

“Sure did. I need a mate. Grimlock has always insisted. You both have insisted that I should settle down with someone. Given that this one's a translator, I finally realized I'd found a mech worth keeping around.”

Smokescreen grinned in amusement, but Red Alert looked scandalized. “We're trying to end the slave trade. When the council hears about this...”

“When the council hears about this, I have a good explanation. Now, shall we head back to Rhodos? I believe it's time we fulfilled our half of the contract.”

Grimlock was finishing up with his speech, and with a final round of cheering he transformed into his alt-mode—that of a huge reptilian beast. “To Rhodos!” he shouted eagerly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Desert Mission" continues in Chapter Three: "Return to Rhodos"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	3. Return to Rhodos

-o-o-o-o-o-

Well past sunset Prowl returned to his apartment, a modest dwelling with an enviable view of both the ocean and the pink cliffs of Rhodos. It had been a long journey from Grimlock's fortress followed by the turning over of the promised weapons to Grimlock. And then there had been the disbursement of the weapons and the Dinobots' immediate and strange ceremony of consecration to Mortilus of the weapons. The Council of Rhodos required a lot of explanations. And then Grimlock had been eager to visit the marketplace. It wasn't until sunset that the Dinobots finally left the city, giddy at their new standing with the colony and the advantage they now held over the other desert tribes. There would be a price to pay for that power—namely the outer defense of Rhodos against the Decepticons—but their new firepower would make it a delight.

Prowl unlocked the doors to his dwelling and escorted Jazz inside. The veiled mech looked about, moving slowly through the main room, his hands lightly touching the furnishings and the bits of technology he'd not seen in his long captivity. Prowl watched him curiously. When Jazz came to the washrack he stared in amazement. “I haven't taken a shower since... since...” he said shakily, hands running over the glass doorway that led the tiled space beyond. “We only had basins and wet towels... if that.”

“Would you like to shower now?” Prowl offered.

Jazz nodded.

Prowl opened the glass door and turned on the water as Jazz followed him in, eagerly tugging off his clothing. And then he stepped into the spray of water.

And then, as the warm water cascaded over his frame, Jazz laughed.

Prowl was amazed. For the past day he'd only heard speech and sobs and unhappiness from the mech. The long journey back to Rhodos had been punctuated with bitter cries. But now Jazz was laughing.

Prowl stepped away, leaving a towel upon the polishing bench for him and taking away the robes.

When Jazz finally emerged from the shower, Prowl presented him with a ration of energon and motioned for him to sit on the couch in the central area of the apartment.

“You didn't report me to the council,” Jazz said, sipping at the cup. “I thought you were going to.” The large towel was still wrapped around him though he was long dry, as if he were uncomfortable without some external covering.

“Not today. There was enough to deal with at the moment. I will in time.”

Jazz stared at him. “You intend to actually keep me as your mate. Your cautions to Grimlock were just a means to insure he'd give me up, weren't they?” Jazz accused flatly.

Prowl stared at him in disbelief. “Well no. Of course not. I didn't report you because for now, it just makes things a bit easier while we work through the initialization of the contract with Grimlock.”

“And then once you do report me, and I'm 'found,' what are you going to do with me?” Jazz asked, not fully sure if he believed Prowl's reasoning. “What happens then?”

Prowl leaned back into the couch. “Jazz, you underwent a harrowing ordeal. Your capture. Your imprisonment. The deaths of your parents. The crushing feeling of guilt that you've been living with. Your fear of returning. I thought a lot about it last night and on the return trip.”

“You did?”

Prowl nodded. “I have a plan.”

Jazz shuffled inside the towel. “You have a plan. Everyone seems to have a plan for me. Soundwave. Grimlock. Now you.”

“Jazz, I was forged a tactician. All I do is plan. And I'm good at it. Since becoming the Chief Enforcer plans have done so much for Rhodos. Without me, this colony would have...” He gestured about him aggressively. And then he noticed the worried look on Jazz's face.

Prowl lowered his hands and softened his voice. “I've spent so long working to fight the Decepticons and to put an end to their raids. Not only those against us, but of the other colonies along the Southern Reach Seafront.” He picked up his own energon cup and took a drink. Still cradling it, he looked over at Jazz again. “I want you to be a part of my work.”

“What? What could I do?”

“Jazz, I want you as my partner in this. You have first-hand knowledge of the Decepticons. You lived with them since you were captured until the time you were taken by the Dinobots. You speak their language. You know their territory. You know their ways. Their allies. Their methods. But more than that, you lived with the Dinobots as well and became just as familiar with them. The languages you speak. The customs you understand. The knowledge you have. I realized today just how fortunate I would be to have you working with me. Smokescreen's a brilliant negotiator, but he doesn't have your knowledge. The both of you working together along with my planning—we'd be amazing.”

Jazz just sat there staring, taking it all in. And then he crossed his arms over his chest. “I would have been better off just hiding with Grimlock. All he wanted was a bit of translation and a bit of housework and a frag now and then.”

Prowl sighed. For as distraught as the mech had been before, he was now quite defiant.

“Jazz. There's something in this for you too. Don't you realize your own potential? This plan is not just about my work, about what I want accomplish here.”

The mech didn't respond.

“Grimlock said that you were always running away. I looked at those shackles on your legs. Those were Decepticon-made. You had them before Grimlock abducted you. Which leads me to believe that you were always running away from the Decepticons as well.”

Jazz did not answer. He moved his foot, at which the chain clinked loudly in the quiet room. Grimlock's apartments were heavily carpeted and draped. Prowl's were stiff and bare.

“You threatened you'd run from me as well. Jazz, you need to stop running. It's become obvious to me that you're not just running from whoever's keeping you, but from yourself, aren't you?”

Jazz stared at him blankly, the truth of the matter sinking in.

“I want you to stop running, to stay and help me. You're running because of guilt, but you can redeem yourself so you no longer have to run. Help me to make peace between our people and the desert tribes. Help me to teach them cooperation. Help me to defeat those whose leaders refuse to cease the warfare. I've shored up our borders now with the Dinobots assistance, but there's so much more. While you were sleeping realized how I could do this with your help.” He took Jazz's hand in his own. “Stop hiding and come back to your people. I am giving a chance here to make up for what happened that you feel so much guilt for. We can stop the bloodshed. Many more lives can and will be saved than the ones that were lost that you feel responsible for.”

The mech just sat there, staring blankly. Prowl's plan was a lot to take in and consider.

Prowl patted Jazz's hand and rose. “I'm going to wash up, and then I'm going to get some recharge. Tomorrow I'll take you in to get those shackles removed.” He left the room, but then turned back and called from the doorway. “Jazz, think about it. I know this has been difficult for you. But think about it.” 

-o-o-o-o-o-

Prowl felt the thin thermal cover lift and another mech crawl onto the berth beside him and try to settle.. His berth was only half the size of the one they'd shared the night before, which meant they ended up lying closely together. A timid arm wrapped over Prowl's waist; whether in seeking comfort or simply getting comfortable in the small berth Prowl was unsure, but he would welcome it whatever the reason. “Sleep well Jazz. I know that you're upset and today's been difficult, but you'll feel better in the morning.”

“Thank you,” came the equally timid whisper.

When Prowl heard the sound of soft crying, he turned himself around and once more took the mech into his arms. “Tomorrow will be better. I promise,” he said softly, stroking the mech's helm.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Prowl, Smokescreen, and Grimlock stood together facing the Terrorcon leader outside of his fortress. Jazz stood nearby—positioned equidistant between the two parties.

Hun-Gurrr stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his lieutenants doing likewise. “Why should I stop fighting? Stop raiding? That is what we live for,” he snarled.

Jazz translated to Prowl from the Decepticon dialect into Iaconian, and translated Prowl's answer back. “We wish to bring peace to the Great Desert. We want to end the fighting so that we can concentrate on improving trade and the quality of life. The desert tribes are keeping themselves from ever succeeding because of this constant warfare.”

“Warfare is what brings us riches and energon,” Hun-Gurrr countered. “We need to eat.”

Grimlock had an answer to that. “Dinobots first to make peace with Rhodosians. By making peace, we have energon every night. Tribe is bigger now. Me Grimlock have ten children alive. How many children you have alive? Healers from Rhodos take care of us when we hurt. We buy good things from Rhodos and other colonies. Monsterbots not attack us now. Horrorcons not attack us now either. Them afraid of Dinobots and Rhodosians.”

Hun-Gurrr was still not impressed, and he and the others began to return to their fortress, ignoring Smokescreen's calls for them to remain. Jazz moved to intercept them. The Terrorcons bristled and reached for their weapons at first, but then relaxed as Jazz dropped to his knees and reached for Hun-Gurrr's hand. Hun-Gurrr gave it to him and stepped closer, allowing Jazz to pull the huge, rough hand to his faceplate, by desert custom a gesture of honesty and trust on the part of the kneeler. “The Rhodosians mean well for your people. If you change your mind, you can contact me. You have my radio frequencies.”

The Terrorcon leader smiled at the foreigner, pleased with the gesture. But he only gave a snort of laughter. “Maybe the Rhodosians will join the Decepticon Alliance. How about that? Why don't you contact me when your people know who really is master of the desert.”

The Terrorcons continued past and went into their fortress. Jazz walked back to the others, shaking his head. “He's a stubborn one, all right. Just as Snapdragon warned me.”

“He'll come around, perhaps once the Horrorcons come into the fold. I don't think he knows how close Weirdwolf is to switching allegiances.”

“Him Hun-Gurrr barbarian. Him not see good of Rhodos.”

“His choice,” Jazz shrugged. “I'd hate to fight him though. Snapdragon said that he eats his slain opponents.”

“Me told you Him Hun-Gurrr barbarian. Him always eating.”

Prowl shook his head. “Let's get on the road shall we? It's a long way home.”

The four climbed aboard the sand-skimmer they'd taken to carry them the difficult distance to Hun-Gurrr's lair, Jazz taking the helm. The Terrorcons lived deep within the rocky wastes to the southeast of Rhodos, well beyond the borders of the Dinobots' claims.

“Me Grimlock tell others to make ready for us. Have high-grade and mates ready.” They would be stopping at the Dinobot fortress for the night before the Rhodosians continued on home.

“I'm looking forward to a bit of Dinobot hospitality,” Smokescreen grinned. “I've taken a liking to your variety of high-grade. Snarl's good company too.”

“Dinobots always welcome Smokescreen and Prowl and Jazz. Come for rest. Come for drink.”

Prowl smiled to himself every time he heard the Dinobot leader use Jazz's name. It had taken some time, but Grimlock no longer called his former mate by his previous designation. The mech that had once been Bright Star was no longer a chattel but an equal.

“Maybe You Prowl want to share berth with Her Firebite tonight?” Grimlock suggested. Firebite was the smaller of Grimlock's Dinobot mates. “Try Dinobot femme?”

Prowl shook his head. “Lord Grimlock, I appreciate the offer, but ever since you sold Jazz to me, I've taken no other into my berth.”

“Really? You like him that much?”

From the controls, Jazz gave a proud smile. It was the truth, though it had taken a long time to consummate their espousal. Despite Jazz always having been known as Prowl's mate, even among the Rhodosians, they'd only been physically intimate for the past seventeen meta-cycles.

“I like him very much. And he's the best partner I could ever want in my line of work.”

Grimlock laughed happily. “Me Grimlock glad I sell him to you. Me Grimlock want best for my friend Prowl.”

Smokescreen snickered into a hand and gave Jazz a look.

Jazz looked back over his shoulder and smiled at the two on the bench at the back of the skimmer. “Thank you for doing that, Grimlock.” Under Prowl's guidance he'd blossomed from a timid servant into confident enforcer. He'd shed the strangling veils of his guilt and shame and begun to embrace his own identity, rather than the one he'd become accustomed to as Soundwave's property. Prowl had sent him to Iacon thrice for training courses, and in half a stellar-cycle would be sent back for more. Prowl had refused to let him go for more than one session in a row, having come to rely upon Jazz's understanding of the desert people as he tried to work toward peace in the desert—now not just for the Rhodosians but for all of the tribes.

Inside, Prowl felt a surge of warmth, and it wasn't from the hot desert sun, now just past its midday zenith.

-o-o-o-o-o-  
-o-o-o-  
-o-

The End

-o-  
-o-o-o-  
-o-o-o-o-o-


End file.
